Page 85 of The Wildest Ride

Hope died.

She wasn’t perfect. Neither was he. He could live with a tomato hater. “To each his own,” he finally said.

She gave him a shrewd look. “Had to come to terms with that one, didn’t you?”

He nodded solemnly. “Nobody’s perfect.”

She laughed again. The sound was bright in the early sunlight. Behind them, the cows mooed. She’d taken a serious beating and come back up laughing. He had to admire that.

He asked, “How do you feel today?”

She thought for a moment before she said, “Stiff. Sore.” Then she grinned and leaned in to add, “Good enough to get through the rest of the day.”

He hadn’t been worried. He knew her well enough already to know she wouldn’t quit.

She had literal smudges of dirt on her face, but the fine bones of her face, her round nose, and heavily lashed almond-shaped eyes, steadfastly declared her resilience.

As he stared, he noted that her body resisted the rhythm of the horse in a way it hadn’t yesterday. She was favoring her left side and her neck was as rigid as a tree trunk. She was making up for her upper body’s stiffness with the strength and flexibility of her legs, which were, fortunately, more than up to the task. They were surprisingly long for her lack of height, and perfectly formed. She held the reins with her hands, but he could see that it was her legs and seat that were guiding the horse.

Clearing his throat, he said, “We don’t need first. We both have enough points that we can afford a second place. You shouldn’t push it after yesterday.”

She threw him a look that said exactly what she thought about that, and he couldn’t say it didn’t turn him on. She went all in, or not at all, just like he did.

She said, “It’ll take a few more falls before I’m ready to ‘take a second place,’ thank you very much.”

AJ laughed. She’d actually said ‘thank you very much.’ Because he couldn’t help himself, he said, “Well, there’s no need to push it,” when he’d always pushed it. “We’re almost done with the competition and your top spot is secure. No use killing yourself. When all is said and done you’re going back to your ranch and never going to bring any of this up again.” The sentence echoed back at him hollowly.

Regardless of who won, when all was said and done, they’d both return to their respective homes. She would be happier to do that than be recognized as the first world-class female bull rider, and he would end up back in Houston, his belt buckle hung up on the wall, ready to dive into coaching. It was a fitting, if anticlimactic, end for a retired champion bull rider.

“More use killing you for suggesting such a thing,” she retorted, unaware of the undercurrents sweeping through him.

“Have you ever been to Houston?” he asked, changing the subject.

She shook her head. “Outside the qualifier, no.”

“You should come with me sometime. The food is delicious.”

“I heard it’s a bit dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than climbing on top of three thousand pounds of animal that doesn’t want you to be there.”

“Bulls don’t have guns.”

“Bulls don’t need them. Houston gets a bad rap—it’s a great place.”

“Says the man who started bull riding as an at-risk youth?”

AJ snorted. “I wasn’t an ‘at-risk’ youth. I was just angry. My parents were both college professors.”

Lil looked taken aback. “Professors? I thought you were some kind of reformed troublemaker.”

Her comment earned a full-blown laugh. “Not me. That’s Diablo.”

“Diablo?”

“You’ll meet him.”

“Oh, I will?”